Phoebe crosses her arms, looking at him skeptically. “You’re volunteering for manual labor?”
Luke shrugs. “Why not? It’ll be fun.” A slow smirk curls his lip. “And I know it’ll piss off our parents, so that makes it even better.”
Phoebe huffs, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Well, if you idiots are starting a construction crew, I’m in.”
I blink at her. “You too?”
She straightens proudly. “Of course. I’m excellent with a hammer.”
Luke snorts. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It should,” she shoots back, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re still on my shit list for not calling me.”
Luke groans, exasperated. “Phoebs, I’m sorry! It was just so hectic—”
She holds up a hand. “Whatever.”
My gaze flickers between them, a tight knot coiling in my chest. A voice that sounds like my father echoes in the back of my mind, telling me I shouldn’t need anyone’s help, that real men handle things on their own, that I shouldn’t be weak.
“You guys don’t have to do this,” I say softly. “Seriously. The renovation was a dumb idea anyway.”
Phoebe tilts her head, her curls cascading down her shoulder like a waterfall. “Ash,” she says gently, “for once in your goddamn life, please accept some help.”
Luke nods. “Yeah, man. Besides, you’ve been talking about fixing up that barn for years.” He grins. “Now you’ve got a crew to help you.”
I shake my head, picking at a hangnail. “You sure you’d be okay with me bossing you around, Luke?”
He laughs. “You’ve been doing that my whole life, man. I’m used to it.”
I glance down at the floor. “I can’t possibly ask you guys to help me with this. It’s… a lot.”
“You’re not asking,” Luke insists, squeezing my bicep. “We’re offering help. So take it, you stubborn asshole.”
Phoebe nods in agreement. “Seriously.”
A tight smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks, guys. I—” I pause, clearing my throat before my voice cracks. “I really appreciate it.”
Phoebe wraps me in a hug. “You’re not alone, Ash. We got your back.”
Their voices blend together as they start debating the logistics of demolition, sketching loose plans on a discarded takeout menu on the kitchen counter like they’re plotting a battle strategy. My eyes snag on the crumpled blueprints shoved to the side. The paper is wrinkled and worn, the neat lines of the barn sketched across it like a promise.
For the first time since the accident, the hopelessness in my chest doesn’t feel suffocating.
All my life, I fought tooth and nail to become someone I’m not, chasing impossible expectations. Somewhere along the way, that fruitless effort fractured something inside me.
Now, those old cracks don’t feel quite so deep anymore.
Maybe the old barn isn’t the only thing being rebuilt.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Troy
Thecoldbitessharpernow that November’s turned a corner—the kind that sneaks through your jacket and settles into your bones if you stand still too long. But Ashton’s hand is warm in mine, our fingers laced tight, and it makes the chill a lot easier to ignore.
We walk side by side down the sidewalk, our arms swinging in an easy rhythm. His other arm is still tucked in that damn sling, pressed to his chest like it belongs there. Three more weeks, the doctor said.
Being together in public like this still takes some getting used to.
